We need to talk about UMAMI

“Only you, Ricky!” Laughed a friend of mine, one of those calm, practical, and rational engineers, too untroubled by his own likes and dislikes to be worried about others. Everything is ok for him. A fact that makes it difficult to understand how he had spent his life refusing to eat anything green until he arrived at my table, where, one day many years ago, the embarrassment would have been so great had he not tried one of my vegetable preparations that he decided to swallow what he’d sworn he never would.

Joining him at my table was another friend, completely the opposite of the first. Agitated and competitive, he criticizes everything I do, albeit cheerfully. Despite the name of the profession, I have known an economist who was not glutinous: he greedily eats everything I prepare, but always finds a mistake or what is missing – and he does not forgive the lack of meat at my table. His response of “Yeah,” after our friend’s compliment of my food was his way of saying only me to have made him like vegetarian food, where the other said it was me who had make him like vegetables.

It became a tradition among three friends: we gathered at my house for a Saturday lunch once or twice during the winter. They bring the fine wines to my table full of glasses and many small plates with food representing all the flavors possible for the competitors to play sommelier before we begin solving all the world’s problems.

In our annual tradition, the issue of vegetarianism inevitably arises, but never from my part: firstly, because I just think the table is far too late for that discussion; secondly, sermons are inelegant when inviting others into the home; thirdly, I have found that any attempt to impose habits and values ​​on others with unsolicited opinions often has the contrary effect. More strategic it is to stand as a quiet example. Allowing others to observe your behavior as much as they’d like begins to penetrate thought without friction. And it was during our last encounter that I saw the fruit of patient observation: the engineer confessed that he is trying a vegetarian life.

My other friend choked, almost spitting his wine.

Remembering that it was the same guy who only ate meat, chicken, rice, potatoes and beans – my friend whose mother always hugs me with much affection and gratitude for making her son eat lettuce – I was quite happy. At the same time, I began to worry because I have seen several attempts at vegetarianism frustrated for various reasons, not the least of which is the discovery that it is not just a matter of ceasing to eat certain things: it is the start of eating other things, which requires a little knowledge and organization that I know my friend does not have.

After the confession, I got ready to support and defend my friend from the acidic retaliation of the other, when I got an even bigger surprise in the candid confession, “I am also cutting down on meat.”

Now it was me who choked on the wine.

Both are extremely intelligent people for whom I did not need to deploy the logic behind vegetarianism. It might be that they are even more aware than I am of the large and conclusive list of the impacts of animal production and consumption on health and the environment. I could not offer any new information to an engineer and an economist on the ludicrous energy cost-benefit balance sheet of investing water, land, chemicals, machinery, and oil to produce, store, transport, and consume dead animals that are barely a tertiary source of energy from the first: the sun.

The secondary source was already more than present at the table filled with vegetables – minus the cheese, which also has a very dubious cost-benefit.

Everyone knows where and how delicious steaks, chickens and sausages are made, but even the most discerning somehow decide to ignore the facts in order to accommodate personal tastes. If mere intelligence were enough to rein in our tastes and aversions, these friends of mine would be among the most astute. But who said choosing what one consumes is just a question of reasoning? If so, this and all lives would be easy.

Finally summoned, I explained that my choice not to eat meat was based on more than logic: it is based on ethics that are not mere belief. It is firmly acknowledged in the morality of not doing onto others what we would not have done unto us. And once one’s eyes open to our hypocrisy, there is not much return from that point.

To ignore the facts to accommodate tastes is the definition of hypocrisy, which applies to all human being and can be seen in many other spheres, causing many, many conflicts.

“But relax, I’m a hypocrite in my own ways,” I said before taking a sip of wine and a piece of chesse, relaxing the conversation so it would not become a sermon.

“You really don’t miss eating meat, Ricky?” I was asked.

“It has been many, many years now. I simple do not recognize food in meat. It’s like a dog not confusing his rations with celery. But it was not always like that, it was a process in which you fall, get up and try again. It is said that life feeds on lives in an eternal cycle of creation and destruction. Even the life of a vegan is not exempt from this cycle, it necessitates the destruction of others. It is best to choose as wisely as possible in every moment.”

“Yeah, but…” interrupted the aspiring vegetarian, “I do not have this good vegetarian food within reach. And funny how I do not miss any meat eating here!”

I smiled. It was the moment of vengeance for me where I could manifest myself before my dear friends, so very witty and competitive. They had taught me a lot about construction and business – even wine – and now it’s my turn to teach them something.

“Ok then, you donkeys, listen up …”

Pointing to each dish, I unfolded the logic of spices and herbs to enhance and counterbalance the ingredients, explaining why it was of no coincidence that they now even demand my grilled mushrooms and asparagus, tomatoes baked with olive oil and rosemary, favas with lemon and cumin, caramelized garlic, and roasted seeds in the green salad. I explained to them: “It’s that you like umami very much.”

“U what?”

“He’s talking about your mommy!”

“No, he’s not. He knows what I would do to him!”

“Umami!” I shouted. “It’s one of five flavors: sweet, salty, sour, bitter and umami – the taste of glutamates, the amino acids in protein-rich foods.”

“Is he speaking English?”

“Listen,” I continued, “this soup you like with the light Indian spice that you think goes well with champagne?” The spices follow the logic of an ancient knowledge that says that all the flavors should be awakened on the palate at every meal. The lack of a flavor – or an overloaded flavor – will give us a feeling that something is missing, and another desire will be born. It is not a coincidence that you usually do not want dessert after an Oriental meal, because there is often already something sweetish in its taste. An even with vegetarian food, there is a way of satisfying the taste of protein. Here on the table, I’ve upheld the tradition of wines and cheeses, but I have added vegetable dishes that have much umami, such as mushrooms, for example, and I have added spices like cumin that enhances the protein in pulses.”

Pointing to the eggplants, I continued “Grilling or roasting the food is also a way to concentrate taste to feel satisfied.”

“Are you calling us frustrated?”

“Maybe. But I still think he’s talking about your mommy!”

“Umami!” I once again corrected him. “That is why you walk away without the feeling that meat was missing. Now, if you are going to try to be vegetarians by eating pizzas and pasta, besides being dissatisfied, you are going to get sick. I find the method of being a weekday vegetarian quite valid until you can align your taste with logic, and it is a way of making a great contribution to the planet and your own health.”

It is said that the art of hosting is knowing how to dose everything, including conversation. I changed the subject so as not to get bored and start our other discussions on saving the world, but also because the conversation, like food, has to be pleasantly remembered if it is to be repeated. Kneading too much talk can make it bitter. I sweeten it with comic notes. I make it spicy with frankness that cannot be ignored. A bit sourness dissipates other tastes. Some salt makes even diluted things taste good. And umami to make you want to come back.

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A native of Chicago, Ricky Toledano has lived in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil for over twenty years as a writer, translator and teacher. [a]multipicity is multi-lingual collection of reflections through the humanities.

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Ricky Toledano

A native of Chicago, Ricky Toledano has lived in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil for over twenty years as a writer, translator and teacher. [a]multipicity is multi-lingual collection of reflections through the humanities.